So Blind in the Sun
by Sagacious Rage
Summary: The Chantry is in ruins, the Gallows has been annulled, and Laica Hawke has been named Viscountess of Kirkwall and is betrothed to Prince Sebastian Vael. But happily-ever-after is for fairy tales. Chapter 8 is now the right chapter, sorry for confusion.
1. Prologue

Prologue

And down they fled into darkness and despair.

_-Threnodies 8:28_

Her eyes stung and her throat burned, the noxious smoke searing her senses. Small bits of ash landed on her face and hands, the occasional ember singeing her fingers.

She looked down at her hand, holding the knife. And then at Anders, hunched over, looking away.

"Stand up," she said softly. "I want you to look at me."

Slowly, Anders rose to his feet and turned to look at her. She forced herself to meet his eye, to face the depth of his despair.

"I'm glad that it's you," he whispered.

"I'm not," she whispered back, voice hitching as she held the knife to his throat.

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><p>This was written for the Bioware Bang on LiveJournal. I have a link to the cover art in my profile, provided by the incredibly talented Ashmouth on DeviantArt. This story was betaed by the generous and helpful JessicaJones, Xogs, Neaira and Conzuela<p> 


	2. Justinian

Justinian

_Laica_

The smell of blood always sickened Laica. It was an odd problem for a healer to have, and she worked very hard at controlling it. But it never really went away.

Anders' blood reeked like nothing she had ever encountered. It was thick, dark red, almost black, and the smell stuck to her skin and in her nose no matter how many times she scrubbed her hands with lavender and rose scented soap.

The smell found its way into her dreams, where it was accompanied by the feeling of the hot blood on her hands, and the sound of Vengeance screaming in her mind as Anders bled out on her robes, staining them with the thick, dark black-red of his blood.

So she simply stopped sleeping. It seemed a sensible choice. If sleep made her vulnerable to the demon of Vengeance, then she would not sleep.

She spent her time in the infirmary, working to heal the injured. It was touchy business, healing Templars after annulling the Gallows. Most refused to be touched by her magic at all, and she was forced to rely on bandages and splints.

It was when she was first bandaging the wound on Knight-Captain Cullen's side that she felt the first whispers. _You are weary_, a seductive voice curled inside her ear, _I can help_.

Laica started and turned to see nobody there.

"What is it?" Cullen asked, reaching for his sword, which was laying next to him on the cot. "Did you feel something?"

"No! No, nothing at all," Laica said quickly, returning to her work. "This would go much quicker if you would let me-"

"No," he interrupted flatly. "This will suffice."

_You should use your magic anyway,_ the voice murmured, _think of how much better he will feel once you've healed him._

"He said he didn't want it," Laica whispered to herself. "Be quiet." She cleared her throat and looked up at Cullen, who was observing her closely. "Um... lift up your arms, if you please."

He did as she asked and she wound the bandage around his torso, doing her level best to not notice how well-defined his musculature was. _He is a very attractive man_, the voice purred. Laica screwed her eyes shut and took a deep breath as she tied the bandage securely. "Be quiet," she whispered with more urgency. She straightened up and pressed her hands into her aching lower back, sighing. "That should keep you in one piece. Be sure to return tomorrow so we can change the dressing."

Cullen nodded and reached for his shirt as Laica turned to go wash her hands again, stumbling slightly with weariness. _Let me help you_, the voice whispered seductively. _You will help so many people. You will not feel tired or sore. They will all be so grateful._

"Stop it," she choked back tears of exhaustion as she scrubbed her hands with lavender soap. "I won't listen. You are wasting your time." She sluiced warm water over her hands, which were cracking and bleeding after her vigorous efforts. Hissing at the pain, she wiped her hands on her apron and moved on to the next patient, a Hightown shopkeeper who had been struck by falling debris after the Chantry explosion.

She crouched in front of her with a sigh. "Do you mind if I use healing magic on you?"

"No," said the ashen-faced woman.

Laica nodded and began to gather her will. She frowned as the Veil felt tattered and loose, energy rushing at her when it should have been harder to grasp. _See how I help you, _the voice beckoned. _I can help you even more, if you will let me._

Laica struggled to close the tatters in the Veil. "I won't let you. I don't need it. I don't want it. Go away."

The shopkeeper stared at her. "Champion? Are you alright?"

Laica took a deep breath. "I'm perfectly fine, serah. Just... perhaps a bit tired. You understand, of course."

The shopkeeper nodded slowly. "Perhaps... it would be better if you did not use magic after all."

"If you wish," Laica conceded, hiding her relief as she stood to fetch bandages and gauze.

_You should use magic anyway,_ the voice slid against her ear and into her mind. _You should not ask. You should simply do. They will thank you. _

"That's unethical," she hissed at the supply chest, gathering her supplies. "People have a right to determine what sort of treatment they prefer and I _won't_ force it on _anybody_."

_They fear because they don't understand. They don't understand because they do not see. If you show them, they will understand and thank you for helping them_ , insisted the voice.

"That's not true, demon," she grit her teeth. "Leave me be."

_And this is how you repay my kindness? _ The voice roared in her ears and tore at her will. _With accusations? _

Laica clapped her hands to her ears as her knees gave out under her. "Leave me be!" she cried as she crumpled.

An arm wrapped around her waist, catching her before she hit the ground. She sagged against the person, whose surprising strength supported her. A rough cleansing washed over her as the person's hand stroked down her face and side.

The Templar's will enveloped her like a smothering blanket, and Laica clung to it, feeling secure for the first time in months. The tattered edges of the Veil rushed together as the demon's frustrated screams were cut off abruptly. Laica cried out at the sudden silence.

"Be calm, Hawke," Cullen said softly in her ear. "You overextended yourself. You were made vulnerable."

Laica clutched his arm, which was still around her waist. "But... I resisted, didn't I? Otherwise you wouldn't have..."

"You resisted," he confirmed, leading her to sit on a cot. "I suggest you get some rest. It is dangerous for you to be so tired."

Laica resisted, even as he pushed her to lay flat and her eyes began to droop. "Can't... sleep... don't want to dream."

"You must," Cullen said, implacable, covering her with a blanket.

Laica lost the battle. And in her dreams she met Vengeance once more.


	3. Solace

Solace

_Sebastian_

Laica stood in Sebastian's room in the Chantry dormitory, shifting her weight awkwardly and watching him pack. "Please don't go," she said softly as he packed, refusing to meet her eye. "I need you here."

"Laica," he sighed, folding an undershirt. "I have lingered too long already. You are quite recovered." He said it with more conviction than he felt. Always willowy, she had been growing steadily thinner since the battle as the dark circles under her eyes grew darker. But he could not help solve whatever tormented her mind, much to his shame. "And you have your coronation to prepare for and the city to put back to rights. You have Aveline and Ser Cullen to help you. I have to go to Starkhaven."

"Let me come with you, then," she pleaded, gathering his prayer books. "You said that together we can accomplish anything. I can help you."

"No, my love," he said as gently as possible, focusing on his bag. "I have to do this on my own. If I cannot retake my city by my own efforts, then I do not truly deserve to rule it."

She clutched the books to her chest, and he could hear her breath catch. "But what if you get hurt? Who will heal you?"

"We will have healers with us, Laica," Sebastian said, packing an extra pair of boots. "I will be quite well looked after, you do not need to worry on that account." He could not look at her. He could tell just by the sound of her voice how desperate she was. If he looked at her, met her eye, and saw her feeling so wretched and alone, he would not have the strength to leave.

"When will you return," she asked tremulously.

"I don't know, Laica. As soon as I possibly can," he tried to assure her, heart aching. "I promise you."

She took a deep breath and he dared look at her. She looked back at him steadily, chin raised high, though she was pale as a sheet. "I will hold you to that," she said, voice quiet but firm.

For the first time since the battle he felt like he was looking at Laica Hawke, the woman he had followed loyally, respected outspokenly and loved quietly for the better part of a decade. He stepped closer and grasped her forearms. "There is nothing in this world that would make me leave your side if it were not absolutely necessary. You know that. And the moment it is no longer absolutely necessary, I will return."

Laica frowned. "I don't understand why it is so necessary. If I am to rule with you, why can I not retake the city with you?"

He let go and took his prayer books out of her hands. "Because I have to prove I am worthy of my birthright."

He could feel her eyes on him. "But I could still help you! You could lead and I could just provide support as a healer. I _can_ do that, you know. I trust your abilities. Unless you don't trust me to step aside," she added sullenly.

Sebastian sighed. "I trust you implicitly, Laica. You know that."

"I do. And I also know you're a terrible liar." She said, a hint of frustration creeping into her tone. "What are you not telling me, Sebastian." It wasn't a question.

He took a deep breath and turned to face her, bracing for impact. "I have been informed of some… troubling rumors."

She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. "Concerning what, precisely?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to come up with a way to express himself that wouldn't end with her in tears or him on fire. She cleared her throat and kept her gaze firmly on him. "We both knew that your abilities would… be problematic," he began.

"No." She shook her head. "There's nothing problematic about my abilities. It's how people are afraid and prejudiced against me because of them that is 'problematic'."

He nodded a concession. "Yes, that's a better way of saying it."

"So just… out with it!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. "What are they saying about me?"

He swallowed. This was not going to end well. "The concern is that you are perhaps a practitioner of blood magic and have me…" he cleared his throat. "Enthralled. So to speak."

Her eyes flew wide as her lips pressed shut. "That's absurd. That's insulting! That's _completely ridiculous_!" she fumed.

"You are correct, my love," Sebastian said, hefting his pack on his shoulder. "But ignoring these allegations will not make them go away. And so I am doing what I must to ensure that they are thoroughly disproven." He turned to make his way to the courtyard.

Laica followed him, jaw tight and fists clenched. "I should confront them myself. Let them say these things directly to me. I am no blood mage!"

Sebastian made his way toward the caravan, torn between his desire to remain and reassure her and his gratitude that he would soon be leaving and no longer in the path of her wrath. "I am well aware of your feelings on the matter, Laica. You don't need to convince me. Just trust me to convince the others. If you're there, it will only lend credence to this vicious slander."

She was silent for a time and Sebastian dared another glance at her. His heart twisted in his chest as he saw the tears streaming down her face. "Laica, please just trust me," he said gently, reaching his arms out to her. "Trust me to handle this. You have enough to manage on your own without taking on my burdens as well."

She trembled in his arms and his heart ached. "Sebastian, I keep having these dreams…"

He smoothed a hand over her hair. "We both endured a terrible thing, my love. But it's over. He's gone. You're safe from him, now. Have faith in the Maker's plan for us." He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. "You are the strongest woman I've ever known. I believe in you. I love you. And I will be back."

She nodded and took a deep breath. "I love you," she said softly. "Please, be careful."

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Always, my love. I would hate to be forced to haunt you from beyond the Veil. Being with you in person is much more pleasant."

She made a face and shoved him gently. "Get going before I think of another reason why you can't."

Sebastian nodded, still feeling ill-at-ease but unwilling to test his luck on her restored mood. He kissed her once more and left without looking back.


	4. August

August

Cullen

Cullen didn't know quite what to expect when Laica requested the meeting with him. Though that was hardly unusual. He never really knew quite what to expect from her, ever. So this was no different in that respect.

What was different was her demeanor when she arrived. As she crept into his office in the late glow of the afternoon, he was shocked at the change in her appearance. She was pale and drawn, her eyes dull and ringed with dark circles. The light silk gown she wore hung loosely on her already-thin frame. She walked slowly, hands folded in front of her and eyes downcast.

Cullen stood as she entered. Instantly uneasy, he began stretching out his will to search for tears in the Veil. "Good evening, Champion," he greeted her. "I trust that you are well."

Carefully, she closed the door behind her. "I…" her gaze flickered up at him briefly before she looked down again. "Thank you. You are as well, I hope, Knight-Captain."

"Of course." He gestured at the seat in front of his desk as he returned to his own, watching her closely. Moving stiffly, she eased herself into the chair and looked toward him but not at him. They both sat in silence for a moment, Cullen growing increasingly confused and concerned at her quiet stillness. "Hawke," he said finally, breaking the silence. "Did you have a reason to request this meeting?"

She shifted slightly in her seat, gaze flicking up toward him and then back down again. "Do you…" she said, as if she were having trouble finding the words, "Remember what you did for me? After the battle?"

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he looked at her even more closely, not with the eyes of a colleague but with the eyes of a Templar. She obviously had not been sleeping, in flagrant disregard of what that had led to in the past. It appeared as if she had not been eating, either. A thin sheen of perspiration was visible on her skin, which put him slightly more at ease. It would have been a major cause for concern if she were not sweating in the brutal heat of a Kirkwall summer. As she was still looking down, he took the opportunity to look at her wrists, checking for scars. There were none obvious, though that could just mean she was smart enough to not cut her hands. Hawke always was uncommonly canny.

"Yes," he said, suppressing a shudder at the memory. How he held her to him longer than he needed to. How he _wanted _to hold her that long. How even in those few moments when he mended the veil to save her, the demon had brushed against his mind and instantly found the kernel of affection he held for the woman. An affection he still tried to deny. Such things were weaknesses. That's what he learned in Kinloch Hold. That's what he learned from Amell. "That was an unpleasant business."

"I was wondering, how does one ensure that such a thing will not happen again?" She said it so quietly he had to strain to hear her.

There was one answer to that, though he balked at suggesting it. "That's part of the purpose of the Harrowing," he said, skirting the only real way to prevent demonic possession. "To determine whether or not a mage is strong enough to resist."

"That's not what I mean," she said. "I want to be sure that it can't happen ever again. I thought maybe… isn't that what the whole Tranquil thing is for?" she waved her hand vaguely.

"Laica," he said, placing his hands flat on his desk. "Yes. The only way to do that is the Rite of Tranquility. We can perform that on you if you request it but I caution you to consider the full implications. There is no going back."

"I would rather be Tranquil than…" her lip trembled and she looked away.

He resisted the urge to stand and go to her. She looked so truly pathetic that it physically hurt him to look at her. "What inspired these questions, Laica?" He asked, a slight tremor his voice betraying his emotions.

She took a deep breath and finally looked up at him. "I have been having dreams of Anders."

His fingers curled into fists as he narrowed his eyes. The abomination. "What sort of dreams?"

"Not like not my friend, you understand," she said, wringing her fingers. "But Vengeance. Screaming. And after what happened at the infirmary I was afraid that maybe he was trying to possess me from beyond the Veil."

Cullen stood with a sigh and went to her. "Stand up," he ordered, gathering his will. She looked up at him with frightened eyes but did as he said. "I am going to examine you," he informed her. "This will involve me touching you here, here, and here," he gestured to her forehead, chest, and hips. "Do you have any questions?"

"Why there," she asked, folding her arms across her stomach. "Why those places?"

"The energy tends to focus on the brain, the heart, and the, ah, lower stomach." He said, feeling suddenly awkward. Straightening his shoulders, he gathered his will and gently pressed his fingers against her forehead. Searching her mind, he found many weak places. Spirals of guilt, fringes of despair, obsessive replaying of unpleasant memories. All easy targets but not yet touched by demons.

He released his hold on her forehead and pressed his fingers to her breastbone. A well of loneliness surrounded her heart, surprisingly vast. But it, too, was untouched.

Finally, he pressed his fingers to her hips, in the soft spot just above the jutting bone. A flood of desires pulsed there, some vague, others more elaborate, complete with names and faces and places. He lingered there, searching for the faintest hint of a desire demon, as that was the type that had nearly broken her earlier. He found no demon, though he did find whispers of a figure with short hair and broad shoulders that made him withdraw quickly before exposing too much of her secret thoughts to himself. He cleared his throat and opened his eyes. "You're fine," he said simply as he returned to your desk. "There is no sign of a demon on you. You have nothing to worry about at this time."

Laica stared at him with wide eyes. "How can you be so sure?" she demanded, temper flaring.

"Because I just examined you," he replied, feeling weary.

"But… if it's not a _demon_ why do I keep having these _dreams_?" Her voice rose.

Sighing, he turned away from her, unable to face her confusion and rage. "It is not uncommon to have… unpleasant dreams after a traumatic event," he said as evenly as he could, trying to not think about his own sleepless nights. His own terrible dreams he had once thought defeated, only to come flooding back after that day.

"So what am I supposed to do," she said, still angry. "Just… wait?"

"Praying can be helpful," he said, reciting the advice he had gotten. "Chamomile tea."

"Chamomile tea?" she burst out. "I'm having dreams of a demon screaming in my skull every night and you recommend _chamomile_ _tea_?"

"Hawke," he said, turning back to his desk but not looking at her, at her eyes aching with questions he could not begin to answer. "I can be of no further use for you. You are not in danger of possession at this time. Beyond that, perhaps you should speak to your confessor or a friend. I have work to do. Good day."

He resumed working on his reports, and only after she was gone did he let out the breath he had been holding.


	5. Kingsway

Kingsway

_Laica_

Laica shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and lifted her heavy hair off the back of her damp neck. Cullen sat on the other side of her desk, perfectly still in his heavy armor, though his neck was red and his brow glistened with perspiration.

Laica cursed him to herself. The stone-carved bastard. Her gaze wandered to the window, where she strained to see if the banners on the city wall were waving, offering the illusory promise of a breeze in the stifling heat. She yawned. Her dreams had calmed as of late, but the ovenlike estate made it so that she couldn't sleep anyway.

"Hawke," Cullen said sharply, yanking her back into the room. "I need your opinion on the matter."

Laica turned her attention back to him, twisting her hair into a thick rope to keep it from falling back on her neck. "You shall have it... once I have a chance to review the, um, the studies..."

Cullen glowered at her. "Hawke. You've had the studies for three weeks. How have you not had adequate time to review them?"

"Not thoroughly." She fidgeted. "And I would like to review them thoroughly."

Cullen fixed her with a withering look. She steeled her spine and looked back at him. "On the topic of the Circle..." she started, attempting to change the topic from the Void-taken reports.

Cullen's eyebrows twitched and she could have _sworn_ she heard him growl. "What about it."

Laica took a deep breath. "I don't want it to be in the Gallows anymore."

Cullen's face was stone. "That is not negotiable."

"I'm afraid you are incorrect on that point, serah," Laica pulled out a very brittle, very old document. "You see, according to this charter, it is the office of the Viscount who determines where the Circle should be. Not the Chantry."

Cullen scanned the document quickly. "So it would seem."

Laica's temper began to rise. "I assure you, the charter is legitimate."

"Perhaps," he replied noncommittally. "We shall see."

Laica arched an eyebrow at him. "Do you think I would forge such a document, Knight-Commander?"

"Not you, not necessarily." He responded. "Perhaps the late Viscount. Or one of his predecessors. I'd be foolish to accept such a document without thorough examination."

Laica snatched it back. "Any examination necessary you will do here. You will find my study should have all the tools your men could need. The document does not leave the grounds."

Cullen inclined his head. "Fair enough."

"And you will be observed at all times." She finished.

Cullen narrowed his eyes at her. "You have reason to distrust my men?"

Laica narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you have reason to distrust _me_, Knight-Commander?"

Cullen leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. "Several."

Laica grit her teeth. "Then I suppose it will be more than acceptable that it is your men do the actual tests, while mine simply observe."

Cullen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It appears that it will have to be."

The examinations themselves took only a few days. And by the end of a very thorough investigation, the Templars were forced to admit that the charter was, indeed, legitimate and superseded any other precedent that had been set in the intervening years.

Knight-Commander Cullen was livid. He paced the boiling hot office of the viscount as Laica fanned herself with her sandalwood fan.

"The secular authority has no business making this decision. Least of all when the secular authority is a _mage_," he snarled.

Laica sighed to herself. "The decision to name me viscountess was made by the Templars, who knew full well who and what I am. You remember, don't you? I seem to recall you submitting the motion." She pushed herself away from her desk in a bid to try to get more air. Once again she found herself remembering that battle, how he had somehow managed to convince Meredith to show mercy, even in the depths of her madness. How he had stopped Meredith from killing her. How he had knelt to her, leading the other Templars in recognizing her legitimacy as the city's leader. She frowned. Did he now think he had made a mistake? "But that's neither here nor there. The point is, it's my decision as to where the Circle is to go. And I want your input."

Cullen stopped and stared at her, and she could have sworn she heard him growl. "You just spent the better part of a week proving that you did not need my opinion and now you ask for it?" he demanded.

Laica looked back at him levelly, trying to ignore the sweat trickling down the back of her neck. "I wanted to prove that it was my decision to make. However, I do not wish to completely exclude you from the process, as the decision is one that you will have to put into action."

Cullen ran a hand through his hair and stared at her again. "You... what?"

Laica lolled her head back with a groan. "What are our _options_, Cullen? Other than the Gallows, where can we put these people?"

He went completely silent. Laica lifted her head to look at him, suddenly ill-at-ease.

"You mean to tell me," he said, his voice very soft, and Laica found herself shivering in spite of the heat, "that we went through... all that... and you didn't actually… have a location in mind?"

Laica fidgeted. "Well… I did. But I thought I would ask if you had any ideas before I told you."

He folded his arms and looked down at her, impassive. "The Gallows is the only sensible location."

"Void take the sodding Gallows," Laica fumed, fanning herself. "I wish Anders had blown up the Gallows instead of the Chantry. Then you'd have to consider other options!"

Cullen's eyebrows twitched. "That apostate was a madman. Circles are necessary. Mages need order."

"Maker's breath," Laica muttered. "I'm not arguing that, Cullen! I just want to _move_ it!"

"But there's nowhere to move it," Cullen insisted. "There is nowhere else in the city that is appropriately secure."

"You mean there is nowhere else in the city that is appropriately _isolated_," Laica spat.

Cullen glared at her, and this time Laica was sure that she heard him growl. "It is for their own protection, and that of the people."

"Yes, I know the official reasons as well as you, let me assure you," Laica retorted, irritable. "But how many Rites of Annulment have you _personally_ carried out, Cullen? How can you still pretend to believe that this is _working_?"

Cullen's eyes were agates. "I do not pretend, Hawke." He clenched his fist and suddenly smashed it on the desk. Laica started and stared at him, eyes wide. "What is your alternative?" he demanded. "Tevinter?"

"Do not presume to put words in my mouth, Knight-Commander," she flared. "That most certainly is _not _my alternative."

"Isn't it?" he pressed. "You wish to give mages more freedom. Perhaps next you will find some ancient charter that gives you authority over the curriculum. And then you can churn out maleficarum to your heart's content!"

"How dare you," she blazed, "come into my home and accuse me of such things. You _know_ me. I am _no_ maleficar!" She leapt to her feet and stalked to the window, seething.

Cullen shoved himself away from the desk and began to pace. "Moving away from the Gallows is a step toward freedom. And I cannot take that step, it is too dangerous. Freedom is impossible."

Laica sagged forward and braced her hands on the windowsill, feeling sick to her stomach. "I never thought it _was_ possible, Knight-Commander."

Cullen paused in his pacing.

Laica shook herself slightly, stood up straight, and hugged herself. "The Amell Estate. It has plenty of room for all the mages we actually have at this time. The basement is not completely secure, but your men could seal up any weak spots rather easily. There is a large library that will accommodate all the books the current number of apprentices could need."

"It's not a permanent solution," Cullen protested, faltering. "At the rate we are receiving mage children, it will only be a matter of time until the estate is completely unsuitable." He paused. "Which you would have been aware of, had you studied the reports..." he muttered.

"At which point we will relocate them to some place we can agree upon," Laica responded, ignoring his last aside. "Some place that is not the former slave pens, might I emphasize." She hunched her shoulders and hugged herself tighter. "That's not exactly the sort of mentality I would like to encourage, you know."

"But your family," Cullen tried one last tactic. "It belongs to the Amells, it should stay with them."

Laica laughed ruefully. "The glorious Amell line has been completely destroyed by mage blood, ser. Those who are not mages themselves are aimless drifters, spending what little inheritance they have on schemes and whores. Or they're Templars. There is no Amell family anymore. I'm not even an Amell, not really. I'm a Hawke. And I'm going to be a Vael. The estate barely belongs to me on paper. Let it go to better use than mouldering away until some ambitious sort with even less of a claim shows up trying to take it."

She stiffened as she heard his step behind her. And then his hand was on her shoulder, and he gave her a slight squeeze. "The estate it is, then," he said simply.

Laica nodded and did not turn around. Cullen's hand remained on her shoulder. She knew she should brush him off, but felt so comforted by the contact that she remained as she was.

"Are you still having dreams?" he asked, voice thick. "You seem better… better rested."

She nodded and placed her hand over his. "I am. I, um, apologize for getting so angry at you that time that you gave me advice." She swallowed and tightened her fingers around his. "Nobody else could help me."

He slipped his hand out from under hers and cleared his throat. "Yes, well. You were under a great deal of stress at the time. If… If you'll excuse me." And he turned and left before she had a chance to respond.


	6. Harvestmere

Harvestmere

_Sebastian_

It was more than he had dared to hope for. Sebastian could not contain his happiness, and impulsively hugged Grand Cleric Griselda. "Thank you so much," he enthused, "You don't know what this means to me. To us!" He laughed. "Yes, 'us'! If I am to be married, I should stop thinking of myself in the singular!"

"Yes, my child," Griselda said calmly as she gently extracted herself from his embrace. "That way of thinking will benefit you in the future." She coughed a dry, hacking cough, and Sebastian was suddenly struck by how old and frail she looked. So different from the Griselda he knew a boy. Back then she was a hale, hardy woman, capable of quelling the most spirited child into silence with a mere look. And Maker save the poor soul who ever found themselves in the path of her raised voice.

He grabbed her hand. "Please, will you perform the ceremony?" He would have liked to have asked Elthina, but that was not an option any longer. He allowed himself a moment to feel the dull ache of sorrow at that thought.

"Of course I will, my child," she rasped, patting his hand. "Provided your betrothed does as the Divine asks."

"Yes, of course," he agreed quickly, grinning like a fool. "I'll go write her a letter now. I cannot wait until she is able to join us here. Griselda, she is the most amazing woman I have ever met. I am sure you will love her. Everybody does."

Griselda chuckled drily. "Forgive me if I reserve my judgment until I am fortunate enough to meet the woman, my child. Now, I believe you have a letter to write."

"Yes! Yes of course! If you'll excuse me," he bowed and bounded out of the Chantry, taking the stairs two at a time and heading for the palace.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until he was out falconing with Varric that he felt his feet touch the ground again. He smiled as his bird soared, so far out of sight that he almost lost it in the clouds.<p>

"So tell me, Prince," Varric said as he retrieved his falcon from the cage. "You've taken your city back, what's the next step?"

Sebastian once again could hardly contain his glee. "I have been granted permission to take Laica as my bride!" he declared.

"You must be one smooth talker with the priestly types, Choir Boy." Varric quipped, cleaning his falcon's claws. "How did you finally convince the Divine, anyway,"

Sebastian held out his arm out for his falcon, who was turning lazy circles in the air. "I was forced to make some concessions, as expected. And I don't expect Laica will be very pleased about what she is expected to do."

Varric held his arm up, encouraging his falcon to fly. "What does the Divine want?"

"She wants her to report to the White Spire so the Knight-Vigilant and the Grand Inquisitor can examine her for signs of blood magic." Sebastian explained. "From what I understand, they're just going to ask her some questions and check for signs of scarring. Unfortunately," he winced, "I don't expect Laica to go happily. She will find it most insulting. But we must disprove these rumors about her before we move ahead."

Varric stared at him, thunderstruck. "You can't be serious, Sebastian."

Sebastian sighed. "I know you are not the most devout of men, friend Varric. But Laica and I take our faith most seriously, and are prepared to bow to the will of the Chantry, particularly in such a simple and, quite frankly, sensible request."

Varric set his jaw. "Look, I might not be much for all this Chantry business but I can smell a trap a mile away. You send Laica there? You'll be getting a broken doll as a bride."

A chill stole up Sebastian's spine as he realized how deadly serious Varric was. "The Grand Cleric was quite clear with me that she would not be harmed," he protested with more confidence than he felt. "I did ask for clarification on that point, I assure you."

There was a long silence as Varric carefully put his falcon back in its cage and turned back to him. "Sebastian. Just think about this. You can't trust these people. After everything that happened in Kirkwall, after how hard they howled when she was named viscountess, you think they're just going to ask her a few questions, pat her on the ass and send her on her way?"

Sebastian's temper began to rise. "Are you honestly questioning the White Divine's motives?"

"You don't get to be the Grand Inquisitor by asking questions politely!" Varric exclaimed in exasperation. "For the love of Light, Sebastian, dig your head out of the sand and _think_ about this!"

Sebastian went completely cold as he realized that Varric was right. Even if the Grand Cleric believed what she had told him, those above her in the hierarchy would hardly be bound by her assurances. "I have found in my travels that has seemed as if there were people deliberately slandering Laica. If the Knight-Vigilant believed these lies, he would be… very thorough in his examination."

Varric sighed, partially in relief and partially in resignation. "Exactly. So the question now is, how do we keep her out of Orlais without raising suspicion."

Sebastian realized his falcon was returning and put up his arm just in time to give it a perch. Grunting slightly on impact, he braced himself for Varric's reaction. "I already sent her word that she is expected."

Varric took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose. "She's going to want to go. The sodding stubborn…" he trailed off in a grumble. "She'll probably think she can use this opportunity to talk the White Divine into whatever grand reform solution she's concocted lately."

Sebastian carefully placed his falcon back in its cage, feeling numb. "We have to go back and talk her out of it. She must listen to reason!"

"No," Varric shook his head firmly. "If they think we're complying, that gives us more time. Write again, to her and to Aveline. Explain it to both of them, and we stay far away as if we're none the wiser. They'll figure something out."

Sebastian rubbed his face with his hand. "Maker, what have I done?"

Varric shook his head. "None of that, Choir Boy. We don't have time for self-flagellation." He hefted his cage and started making his way back to the palace. "Let's get going."


	7. Firstfall

Firstfall

_Cullen_

The change in seasons brought a blessed relief as the punishing heat of summer broke and the crisp air of autumn rushed in. Laica looked positively invigorated, and she once again radiated the inexhaustible energy and goodwill that Cullen had come to know as her hallmark. As reassuring as this was, he soon found it even harder to keep her focused during their now-regular morning meetings, and she would frequently drift off to stare out the window, twirling her staff in her hands.

"Hawke," Cullen sighed. "Were you even listening to anything I just said?"

"Of... of course!" Laica chirped as she turned around. "You were talking about the need for increased security during the First Day celebrations this year."

Cullen crossed his arms and arched and eyebrow. "And what else?"

"And... then..." She squirmed under his gaze. "I started thinking about what gown I would wear and I realized that none of the ones I was coming up with would be appropriate for a Viscountess, particularly one who is betrothed and then I thought, oh, I wonder if Sebastian will be coming. Do you think he will be coming? For First Day?"

Cullen blinked at her, completely lost in her rapid changes of topic. "Surely you would know his plans better than I."

Laica rolled her staff between her palms. "I don't think he will. He hasn't mentioned anything to me, anyway." She frowned and began to pace. "I can't concentrate, Cullen. I haven't had a proper fight since..." she stopped herself suddenly. "In _ages_."

"Perhaps we could bring some bandits into the courtyard. Let you stretch your legs at them for a while." He said, smiling despite his best efforts to remain impassive.

Laica continued to pace anxiously. "No, don't be ridiculous. That won't be a challenge. I'd get more satisfaction out of... Completing a particularly difficult needlepoint pattern."

Cullen couldn't help but laugh softly. "Perhaps some very mean bandits."

Laica wrinkled her brow. "This is serious, you know. If I don't get some exercise soon I'm going to go _mad_." She paused in her restless fidgeting. "Would you be willing to spar with me?"

A multitude of very good reasons why he should _not_ be willing immediately sprung to mind. So many that he was stunned that she even suggested it. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh please," Laica stepped toward him with hands clasped. "You're the only one I can spar with. Everybody else is my subordinate and it wouldn't be proper."

Cullen could only stare at her, still dumbfounded. "I'm not certain that I outrank you, Hawke."

"Of _course_ you don't," she sighed, waving her hand dismissively. "You're my equal. And you're the _only _one who is which is why I _need _you to spar with me. Please?"

Cullen sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I really don't think this is proper..."

"Fine!" Laica flung her arms out and sulkily flopped back in her chair.

Cullen cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the duty roster, glad that the matter was settled. "I'm afraid we simply don't have the budget to-"

Laica huffed loudly, interrupting him, and crossed her arms. "Maybe we could just cancel First Day, hm? That would solve the problem."

Cullen looked at her sidelong, realizing that she was not going to drop the matter so easily. "If we tried to cancel the official celebrations, I'm afraid the citizens would most likely have unofficial-"

"Lock them up," Laica waved her hand. "Who cares."

Cullen crossed his arms and fixed her with a stern look, his patience rapidly fraying. "Are you trying to _goad_ me into wanting to spar with you?"

"No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed before looking at him slyly. "Why. Is it working?"

Cullen sighed deeply. He didn't have time for yet another battle of wills. "I suppose we aren't going to actually get anything done until this is over with."

Laica tilted her head thoughtfully. "Possibly. But a sparring match is going to be over much sooner than it will take you to get me to give up. And I'll be much happier and more tractable then."

Cullen sighed deeply. "I don't want you to be 'tractable', Hawke. I want you to be able to concentrate."

She hopped to her feet and grabbed her staff. "So we're in agreement? Excellent. Come along to the courtyard, then."

The courtyard was bright and sunny, as always, with a gentle warmth that was a mere echo of the brutal heat of summer. Laica twirled her staff up and over her head, loosening her muscles. "It's a good thing I brought you out here. I would hate for you to be embarrassed in front of your men."

"Hawke, I have fought beside you," Cullen said, pausing in his own stretches and eyeing her skeptically. "And, as I recall, you spent most of your time well behind the front lines. And running if it looked like the front lines were getting a little too close to you."

"Yes, well. That was when I was fighting with others, wasn't it? Not by myself," Laica fluffed her hair. "I fight rather differently when it's by myself. What are the ground rules?"

Cullen shrugged. "No fatal blows?"

Laica nodded. "Are we fighting to first blood? Or until one of us yields?"

Cullen considered this a moment. "Yield. You're a healer, you could clean up first blood before I even noticed."

Laica narrowed her eyes at him as she grasped her staff near the head and the tail and swung it up over her head and down against her back. "You think I would try to cheat, ser?"

Cullen was quiet as he rolled his shoulders and shook the tension out of his hands, taking his time to choose his words carefully. "I think I came from similar circumstances as yourself, Hawke. And I know that no penniless Fereldan refugee rises as far and as fast as you have by a strict adherence to any rules."

Laica thumped the bladed butt of her staff on the flagstone. "I shall choose to take that as a compliment, ser."

Cullen's lips twitched as he tried to not smile in relief at avoiding her anger. He then sighed and shook his head. "Shall we begin?"

"On your guard!" Laica cried happily, thumping the butt of her staff onto the flagstone once more and sending a ridge of fire curling toward him.

Cullen grunted and dodged out of the way just a bit too late. An unpleasant tingle of magic coursed over his skin and the hem of his robes were left smoking. Laica giggled. He glared at her and charged. She hit him with a wave of ice before he could reach her and bolted.

Grunting, he cracked through the ice and charged after her. She zigzagged across the courtyard, tossing the odd fireball at him until he got so frustrated he simply stopped. She ducked behind a column. And then there was nothing but eerie silence. He gathered his will, waiting for the right moment. He caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and hit her with a wave of his will, yanking her magic away from her.

She simply stood, stunned as he charged at her again, intent on striking before she could regather the slippery fragments of her magic.

At the last moment she gripped her staff and blocked his blow, twisting his blade out of his hand and flinging both of their weapons to the ground. He tried to reach for his sword and she pounced on his back, knocking him off-balance.

He stumbled around the courtyard, trying to throw her off of of him as she flung her weight from side to side, preventing him from catching his balance. He twisted and grabbed her wrists. Yanking hard, he pinned her against the wall. She struggled, kicking ineffectually. He tightened his grip on her wrists and stared down, growling at her. She looked up at him with wide eyes and struggled even more furiously.

"Laica," he asked, forcing his tone to remain quiet and calm. She began to tremble. "Are you afraid of me?"

She stared up at him, and said in a small voice, "Yes."

He did not let go of her wrists, but simply stared at her as she began to struggle again. She kicked him hard in the lower stomach, and he dropped her. She scrambled away and grabbed her staff but not before he grabbed her by the back of the neck and spun her around, pinning her to his chest.

"Why don't you just smite me already," she gasped, wriggling against his arm.

"Because," he strained, leaning his forehead against hers and closing his eyes. He couldn't seem to catch his breath. The scent of her magic, blueberries and honeysuckle, was nearly overpowering. "I don't want to _smite_ you."

His heart thundered in his chest as she stopped struggling went pliant in his arms. He felt her breath on his neck. And in that moment his eyes snapped open, and he dropped her with a snarl. "We're done here."

"But..." she protested, trembling slightly. "Neither of us yielded..."

"I yield," he said flatly as he retrieved his blade and left before she could say another word.


	8. Haring

Author's note: Sorry about the confusion! I was trying to fix something with the files last night and got mixed up. And since it takes so long for the edits to show up, I didn't realize my mistake until I got the reviews telling me.

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><p>Haring<p>

_Laica_

Laica fidgeted in front of the mirror in her office, picking invisible specks of lint from her gown. Frowning at her reflection, she adjusted her crown again. "Sodding ugly thing," she muttered. "Should commission an new one made out of… silverite or something. Not iron."

Seneschal Bran cleared his throat conspicuously. "Your grace, you have kept the Divine's emissary waiting for over half an hour. Perhaps your appearance is now satisfactory?"

Fidgeting some more and smoothing her skirts, Laica tried to quell the rising tide of panic in her stomach. "It will have to do, I suppose." She turned away and lifted her chin, sweeping out of her office and to into her reception room.

Knight-Commander Cullen rose to his feet immediately. "Your grace," he nodded his head in greeting. "Allow me to introduce Grand Cleric Agathe."

The stolid grand cleric inclined her head slightly in greeting.

"We are very fortunate to be so blessed with your visit," Laica said smoothly as she took a seat opposite Agathe and Cullen returned to his. Seneschal Bran remained standing in the doorway, maintaining a respectful distance. "To what do we owe this honor?"

Grand Cleric Agathe fixed her with an icy gaze. Laica felt a chill steal up her spine, though she was careful not to betray her nerves on her face. "The White Divine has been in contact with your betrothed, my child. But the Knight-Commander has informed us of his long absence. Perhaps he has been remiss in his duties as your future husband and neglected to inform you that your presence is required at the White Spire."

Laica's blood froze. Carefully avoiding the Knight-Commander's eye, she prepared to launch the defense they had devised. "My betrothed is currently in Wycome, your excellency, and there has been a great deal of bandit activity along the main road between there and here. It would appear any correspondence from my beloved has been lost to brigands."

The grand cleric eyed her skeptically. "How unfortunate. It must make trade with the other cities in the Free Marches an exceptionally expensive process."

Laica sighed and nodded. "That it does, Grand Cleric. And of course the merchants aren't happy, expect me to do something about it, grumble when I raise taxes but don't seem to understand that the money to pay guards needs to come from somewhere and simply minting more only devalues the currency further."

"Yes, I can imagine," the Grand Cleric replied, clearly disinterested. "You will, of course, need to appoint a regent for your time at the White Spire. Travel in the dead of winter is always slow. And you will be there for quite some time. We will leave on the morrow. Time is of the essence."

Laica again carefully avoided looking at the Knight-Commander. "I apologize, Grand Cleric. But I'm afraid I simply cannot leave on such short notice."

The grand cleric gazed at her, cooly arching an eyebrow. "Your seneschal is a capable sort. I'm sure if you stay in contact with him you'll be able to manage until your regent is in place."

"Under normal circumstances you would be quite correct, your excellency. Unfortunately, with bandits intercepting correspondence the way they are, I have no reliable way to stay in contact with him, regent or no."

"Then the Knight-Commander can step in, in your place," the grand cleric said with an edge of irritation in her voice. "Kirkwall certainly has precedent for such a course of action."

Cullen finally spoke up. "With all due respect, Grand Cleric, I will not do such a thing."

The silence stretched like a string on a lute, threatening to snap.

"I beg your pardon, Knight-Commander?" The grand cleric asked with icy calm. "Is there some reason for your reticence to step in when needed?"

Cullen's armor clattered softly as he shifted in his seat. "The city still has not recovered from the former Knight-Commander's… errors in judgment. I will not make the same errors. The Circle requires my undivided attention and the city must have a secular authority to bother with concerns like… minting coin." He finished, sounding faintly disgusted at the prospect of being responsible for such decisions.

"So I see." The grand cleric said in the same icy tone. "Perhaps the Knight-Vigilant can explain to you the necessity of stepping in to perform in such a capacity when the secular authority is incapacitated."

"But I'm not incapacitated," Laica protested. "I'm perfectly fine, and I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere so long as my city needs me. I will report to the White Spire, your excellency, as soon as my city is prepared for my extended absence."

The grand cleric looked from Cullen, impeccably impassive as always, to Laica, still wearing her very best princess face. "See that you do," she said with calm menace before rising and leaving without giving them a chance to respond.

All the breath left Laica's body in one long sigh as she covered her face with her hands. "Well," Cullen said, "that part was easier than we expected."

"Which only means it will be harder later," Laica moaned, flopping back in her chair. "Maker, they're going to send a platoon of Hunters after me."

Cullen snorted. "If you're lucky. Keep playing this game and you'll end up with an Exalted March." He sighed and shook his head. "I have work to do." He got to his feet and strode out of the keep.

Laica sat in the reception room a long time, considering those words.

* * *

><p>The two letters sat on her desk, carefully folded and addressed neatly. One to Sebastian, and one to Carver. She straightened them one more time and looked around the room. She felt a sudden swell of pride at the fact that she was able to call it her desk. Her office. Her title and crown.<p>

Not bad for a hedge witch, no matter how short-lived it was. She felt a pang as she looked at her father's portrait on the wall. "Sorry I couldn't do any better," she whispered. "They just… outmaneuvered me." Sweeping her cloak over her shoulders and allowing herself one last glance around the room, she slipped out.

Carefully, she made her way to the docks, making sure to avoid the guard patrol routes, heading for a ship bound for Orlais.

* * *

><p>She huddled in the corner of the cell, wrists bound, shoulders aching from where Donnic had wrenched them, pulling her to follow him.<p>

There was the sound of footsteps in the hall outside. She heard Donnic's voice, muffled through the door, "Right in here, Knight-Commander."

"Thank you, Guardsman Donnic." Cullen's voice was calm, but something in his tone sent a chill down Laica's spine. She pressed her back against the wall and took a deep breath, bracing herself.

Cullen opened the door deliberately, holding a lantern over her head. She blinked as the light stung her eyes.

"Viscountess," he said in that same deceptively calm tone. "I understand you were attempting to flee to Val Royeaux."

"More or less," she replied, trying to work her wrists out of the restraints again. "Donnic stopped me. Which he had no right to do, might I add."

Cullen hung the lantern from a hook on the ceiling, and in the swaying light she could make out more of his stony features. "Earlier today we were in agreement that you were not to go to Orlais. What changed?"

"My mind," she flared. "I don't have to explain myself to you. I don't answer to you—"

Quick as a snake, he lashed out and grabbed her wrists, pulling her to her feet. "I thought you were safe from the demon's snares. Perhaps that was overly confident of me."

"What are you talking about?" She struggled harder. "This is no demon. This is my choice."

"Silence. I will not listen to your lies!" He snarled and shoved her against the wall.

The air was knocked out of her lungs as he pinned her. "I'm not lying—"

He grabbed her head with his free hand. "I will examine you," he said, voice strained.

She tried to fight him off but he was too strong, and with her wrists bound she could not cast. His will slipped into her mind, searching her thoughts for signs of the demon. She felt his mind in a turmoil, thoughts of another woman, with dark hair and grey eyes who left and never came back. An apprentice? No. An enchanter. An explosion of blood magic. Several older men with beards and grim looks.

"Who is she?" Laica gasped as Cullen let go of her face and pressed his palm to her heart. She felt his will pulse into her, again searching for signs.

"You come up with plots and schemes and leave and then the rest of us have to deal with the aftermath," he growled under his breath.

Again her head spun with visions of the woman, viewing her through some sort of… purple haze. Her sorrowful look, a feeling of overwhelming anger. "Cullen, please," she begged, fighting in earnest. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Blood mages and demons and abominations," he continued, gripping her hip tightly as his will surged into her, igniting the same tug of desire she felt the last time he examined her. Along with feeling of anger, guilt, and regret.

"Cullen, listen to yourself!" She pushed at him desperately, feeling lightheaded. "I don't know what you're talking about. There's no demon!

His hand returned to her face, touching her gently this time. Rough fingers cupped her cheek as his thumb stroked her cheekbone. "I know," he whispered raggedly. "And I will _not_ lose you."

The door opened. "Hawke?" Aveline said sharply. "Knight-Commander? Is there a problem?"

Cullen straightened to his full height, his hand dropping away from her face, though he kept his grip on her wrists. "The viscountess was apprehended attempting to board a ship to Orlais. I was examining her for signs of demonic possession."

"I see," Aveline crossed her arms. "And you are finished?"

"He is," Laica shoved at his hold on her wrists again, feeling guilty, though she couldn't quite place why.

"Guard Captain," Cullen said to Aveline, finally releasing Laica. "If you could stay here with the viscountess while I summon some of my men to guard her, that would be helpful. You should, ah, keep her wrists bound. So she can't cast." He nodded and quickly left.

Aveline turned to Laica with a skeptical look on her face. "Demon examination, eh?"

Laica huddled in the corner again. "Yes. And if you could keep the lectures to yourself I would appreciate it."

Aveline sat on the cot with a sigh. "No, I won't lecture you, Hawke. But I'm not going to let you go, either."

"Fair enough," Laica mumbled and leaned her head against the stone wall.


	9. Wintermarch

Wintermarch

_Sebastian_

Winters in Kirkwall were always cold, wet, and muddy. None of the crisp snow and blue skies of Starkhaven. And though it was always a short season, it never failed to seem much longer than it was. Sebastian hated winter in Kirkwall.

He entered the estate, thoroughly disgusted by the state of his hood, soaked through with slush, and his armor, completely spattered with mud. "Ah, Captain," he greeted Aveline as he accepted a small hand towel from one of the servants and began wiping ineffectually at his armor.

Aveline arched her eyebrow at him and inclined her head slightly. "Prince. So good of you to make it. You'll find the Viscountess in her study."

Sebastian smiled. "Point taken, Aveline." He began making his way up the stairs, and Aveline fell in step with him. "How is she?"

Aveline sighed wearily. "Frustrated, angry, defiant. She's been taking most of it out on the knight-commander. The man is a brick wall. He's in there with her now, for their daily fight," she quipped as the faint sound of angry voices rose from further down the hall.

"Fight?" Sebastian stopped, concerned. "Daily?"

Aveline rolled her eyes. "They call it a morning meeting. But ever since Cullen put the Templar guard on her, it's been less meeting and more yelling."

"Maker's breath," Sebastian groaned softly, rubbing his forehead. "That… was not a wise move."

Aveline shrugged. "If it keeps her from running off again, can't say I have many complaints."

The sound of angry voices got louder, and he could make out Laica's outraged tone. "…Prisoner in my _own home!_"

Aveline stopped outside the door. "She's all yours. Good luck."

Sebastian squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before pushing open the door.

"You are not a _prisoner_, Viscountess, the guard is for your own protection," Cullen stated stubbornly through clenched teeth. "Which we have discussed. Daily. For the last three weeks."

"We never discussed whether or not I actually _needed_—" Laica raged as she paced, stopping short when she caught sight of Sebastian. "Thank the Maker," she choked and ran to him, hugging him tightly.

"Hello, my love," he said, holding her gently. "I understand there's been some disagreements?"

Cullen snorted and crossed her arms. "Good thing you finally made it. Perhaps you can talk some sense into her."

"That is unnecessary, Knight-Commander," Sebastian replied, keeping his voice calm. "My betrothed is quite sensible already." He felt Laica relax slightly in his arms as Cullen snorted derisively.

"If you'll excuse me," the knight-commander snarled as he strode out of the room.

Laica kept her face pressed against his breastplate until the knight-commander had slammed the door behind him. Growling in frustration, she pulled away from him. "Sodding stone-cold stubborn bastard…" she muttered, pacing.

Sebastian sighed and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back and grimacing as he flicked some melted ice from his fingers. "Laica," he said, feeling suddenly weary. "Why did you try to run."

"I wasn't trying to run, Sebastian!" she exclaimed, flinging her hands up. "I was trying to turn myself in."

He sank into a chair, feeling numb. "That was what Aveline said in her letter. But I couldn't believe it. Laica, why would you do such a thing?"

She clenched and unclenched her fists, looking like a caged animal. "I was making a _choice_."

"Please," he pleaded gently. "Can you not see that this is not the way?"

She spun away, trying to hide the glint of angry tears. "Yes, go ahead. Lecture. Tell me why I'm stupid and foolish and don't bother to listen to my _reasons_."

He could feel the waves of anger radiating off of her, like heat from a fire. "Explain it to me," he said softly. "I'm listening."

She turned back, calming slightly and going to sit next to him. "The knight-commander. He said that… if we keep playing this game with the Chantry we'll be lucky if we don't end up with an Exalted March."

Sebastian remained silent, draping an arm across her shoulders and simply holding her, waiting for her to continue.

She took a deep breath. "I read some books. What it's like to live through a siege. It's dreadful, Sebastian. I know you say that Starkhaven's walls are impregnable but… the things that go on behind those walls during something like that. It's horrible. And I can't… I can't make people live through that for my sake. I _won't_."

Sebastian nodded, weighing his words carefully before he spoke. "They're trying to make an example of you, to me and others who would marry mages. There are no rules that say a man may not take a mage as a wife. But they want to frighten other nobles into not doing such a thing." He explained.

She looked down and spoke in a hush. "Maybe we shouldn't marry, then. Maybe that would stop them."

"We could break the betrothal, if that is what you truly want," he held her a bit tighter. "And when they march on Kirkwall, to remove you from your office, Starkhaven will come to your aid anyway."

She covered her face with her hands and began to cry. "Why do they hate me so?"

He stroked her arm gently. "It's not you. It's what you represent. And I ask you, for my sake. For the people of Kirkwall's sake. For the sake of your family and the children we will have, don't do this. Stand _up_ to them. Stand _with_ me." He shook his head, carefully controlling the anger that pulsed in his veins. "You are a good person. And the best leader I have ever known. If you give in to them, they will be the victor, and they will destroy your memory."

Laica continued to weep softly. "All that suffering, all that pain. I can't do that to anybody. It's an easy choice, one of me for all of them."

There was a dull ache in his chest as the images of her torment at the hands of the templars rose, unbidden, to his mind. "My love. I know this prospect causes you anguish. But if there is to be war it is because they choose to bring it to us, not because you choose to continue to exist."

She calmed and lay her head on his shoulder. He dabbed at her tears with a dry corner of the hand towel. "Fine," she said sulkily. "But only because you _asked_."

He laughed gently. "You are too kind to me, my love."

"Are you going to stay?" she asked tremulously, entwining her fingers in his. "I miss you when you are away."

"For a few days," he told her as calmly as he could. "But I cannot tarry long. I have too much to do, to prepare for our wedding and… what that may bring."

She was quiet a moment. "Will you stay, um, here? With me?"

He sighed. "Laica, you know I won't. Why are you even asking me."

"I just thought, well, we're going to be wed so soon." She tightened her fingers in his. "I thought it wouldn't make that much of a difference."

"My vows are important to me, Laica," he said, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. "And we are not yet wed in the eyes of the Maker. I don't want to dishonor you." He kissed the top of her head.

She nodded with a small sigh. "But in a few months we will be married, and we will be together. It will be different when we're married."

"Yes," he assured her with deep conviction. "Nobody will ever part us."


	10. Guardian

Guardian

_Cullen_

Winter lingered that year, which Cullen appreciated. Even if it meant more sleet and rain and ice and mud, it also meant staving off the unbearable heat for that much longer. Sometimes he found himself nostalgic for a proper Fereldan winter, with hip-high snow drifts from Harvestmere to Drakonis.

Though, in his more sensible moments, he would concede to himself that the mild winters made for easier training. He stood at the edge of the practice yard, observing the new recruits as they went through their exercises in the gusting wind.

"That one," he said to Knight-Lieutenant Hector and gestured at one of the recruits. "What's her name? Isn't it… Charity or something?"

"Chastity, Knight-Commander," Hector said.

"Yes, Chastity," Cullen rubbed his chin, watching her movements. "She's a bit shaky with that shield. See how she does with some Hunter exercises. She might be better suited—"

"Message for you, Knight-Commander," one of the pages interrupted.

Cullen looked down at the boy, irritated at being interrupted. "Is it, now. And I suppose there's a very good reason this could not wait until I had finished my business here?"

The page looked down, daunted. "It's… er… from the Knight-Vigilant, Knight-Commander."

Cullen's jaw snapped shut as he took the letter from the page. "You have my thanks," he said before spinning on his heel and striding quickly to his office.

* * *

><p>Cullen remained seated at his desk as Ser Keran and Ser Carver entered. They both were attempting to keep their expressions even, but he knew the two men well enough to notice the small, tell-tale signs of anxiety. Keran kept running the tip of his index finger over the edge of his thumbnail, and Carver kept sniffing and subtly shifting his shoulders.<p>

"Sit," Cullen said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk.

The two young Templars obeyed immediately, sitting with their backs straight and their hands in their laps, gazing at him impassively. He granted them a small smile and nod of approval before speaking. "I suppose you're wondering why I summoned you."

The two men were silent for a while. "Was a bit curious, have to admit," Carver said finally. Keran simply nodded.

Cullen leaned back in his chair, sighing unhappily. This was not going to be easy for any of them. "I received a message. From the Knight-Vigilant. She has recalled me to the White Spire."

Keran's brow furrowed slightly in confusion, though he remained silent. Carver's mouth flattened grimly. He clearly understood what was happening. "Don't suppose she's in urgent need of anybody else, is she?" Carver asked with his customary sarcasm.

Cullen took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out slowly. "She also summoned the two of you."

Carver nodded, expression turning even more grim, as Keran's face finally betrayed his befuddlement. "But.. Why?" Keran asked.

Cullen pushed himself away from the desk and stood up, turning to the window and holding his hands behind his back. "How much do you know of the Viscountess and the White Divine, Keran?"

Keran sighed. "That… there was some disagreement. That the White Divine wanted her to go to Val Royeaux and she didn't, and she's not supposed to get married now for some reason but she is anyway."

Cullen nodded. "That's… accurate. If incomplete. Officially, the White Divine wishes to test her for blood magic. Unofficially, she wishes to torture and execute her."

"I don't care what she is. Or who wants her. She's my sister. I won't let that happen," Carver growled softly.

"Why would the White Divine _want_ to?" Keran asked, completely lost. "She saved us from the Qunari and the abomination. And…" he shifted a bit, "she saved me from the blood mages. Why would the White Divine want to…" he trailed off.

Cullen stared out the window at the low hanging clouds scudding across the sky. There would be rain soon. He made a mental note to tell the Knight-Lieutenant to bring the recruits in before it started. They wouldn't know how to clean their gear properly yet, and rusty armor was a headache he didn't want to deal with.

"Because," he said, feeling suddenly weary, "the Viscountess is an ambitious mage who has managed to elude the Chantry her entire life. Her fate will serve as an example to other apostates. Or nobles who would marry mages, I suppose."

"Sodding nonsense is what it is," grumbled Carver. "And you can put me in the stocks for insolence, Knight-Commander, but I won't change my mind and I won't keep my mouth shut. My sister is a good woman, mage or no. You would think the White Divine would want more mages like her. Not kill one of the best there is." He shifted in his seat. "Don't tell her I said that."

"Wait," Keran said, a note of growing horror in his voice. "The White Divine wants the Viscountess to go to Val Royeaux. The Knight-Vigilant wants _us_ to go to Val Royeaux…"

"Andraste's _tits_," spat Carver. "Of all the heartless, cruel, unnecessary…" he fumed.

Cullen stared that the clouds, as memories of the Tower swirled. Greagoir's stony expression as he handed him the greatsword on their way to the Harrowing Chamber. Amell standing in front of the lyrium font with Irving. The cold, dead feeling in his heart, knowing what he was expected to do, should it become necessary. "Yes. They wish us to deliver her to the Grand Inquisitor."

"Is this a test?" Keran wondered aloud. "They want to know where our loyalties lie?"

There was as silence as all three pondered what this meant for them. Carver spoke first. "What do you want us to do, Knight-Commander?" he asked, his voice perfectly neutral.

"I want you…" And a flood of memories following that day rushed in. The Uprising. His breakdown. Arriving in Kirkwall. Meredith's clarity of purpose, dragging him out of his fog of confusion. How he almost lost himself in that clarity, pulling back before her madness consume him, too. Meeting Laica on the Wounded Coast. The Chantry exploding. Laica weeping over Anders' corpse. The Harvester. Laica. Meredith trying to kill Laica. Laica and the demon. Sparring with Laica. Arguing with Laica. Praying for Laica. Longing for Laica. He shook himself out of his reverie.

"Do what your conscience dictates," he said, turning to face them. "And I will do the same."


	11. Drakonis

Drakonis

_Laica_

Laica tied her hair up under a kerchief and snuck out the servants' entrance just before the break of dawn. She had nearly made it to the wall when she was stopped by a now all-too-familiar hand on her arm.

"Where are you going," Cullen demanded, instantly angry, spinning her to face him.

Laica leaned her head back and groaned in the back of her throat. "I'm going to my garden, though that's hardly any of your business." She looked around to see where the other Templars were, and quickly realized that he was alone, and not in uniform. "Did you... were you _following_ me?" she asked, aghast.

Cullen frowned. "Nobody goes out this way. I saw an unidentified person and decided to take it upon myself to investigate. Where is this garden?"

Laica glared at him. "Just over that ridge," she pointed. "Feel free to come along if you think I need an _escort_," she spat the word like it were the most vile epithet one could imagine.

Cullen shifted his shoulders and followed her as she tromped up the hill. The path was overgrown with weeds, pitted with sucking mud holes and scattered loose gravel. Cullen grimaced as the mud began to inevitably dirty his robes.

Laica fought a grin. "That's, um. That's why I'm dressed like this," she gestured to her rough spun dress with the unfashionably high hem. "It's not paved very well. The path to the garden, that is. I probably should have warned you."

Cullen sighed in resignation. "I wouldn't have bothered to change if you had warned me."

"Why not," she asked, a little irritated at his disregard for the warning she hadn't actually given.

"Because that would have given you enough time to get away," he said.

Laica was about to object when Cullen slipped on some gravel. Without thinking, she darted to catch him before he tumbled, grabbing him around the waist to support him and stopping his fall.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and braced her legs on either side of his to support him. She could feel the heat of his body through his robes, the strength of his core and his arm around her shoulders and the pulse beating between them.

As soon as he had found his feet again she let go, backing away slightly, not really sure where to look. She dared to look up at him and saw him blushing and staring resolutely at the path ahead of him.

"You should really watch your step," she said weakly before continuing on.

The garden was barren and dead. The last of autumn's overgrowth had withered to a brownish grey, choked with dry leaves and seed pod stalks and shed strips of bark. "See my grand escape plan?" Laica quipped as she began unpacking her tools from her satchel. "See how I try to turn myself in to the Divine?" She began hacking at the undergrowth.

Cullen crossed his arms and observed her, the perfect templar lack of expression plastered on his face. "This seems like a waste of time," he said matter-of-factly.

"What do you mean," she grumbled, yanking dry seed pods. "It's a decorative garden, to be sure. But what decorative garden _isn't_ a waste of time?"

"You won't get to enjoy it," he said, watching her. "You'll be gone before any of this blossoms."

Laica sat back on her heels, frowning. He was right, of course. But she wasn't ready to let it go. "The week after I got out of the Red Iron, as soon as I had scrounged two coppers to rub together, I bought this plot of land and I made this garden. I can't just let it go. Maybe I was hoping somebody could take it over." She wiped sweat from her forehead and looked up at him. "How about you? Are you any good at gardening?"

He frowned at her and looked away. "No."

She looked back at her garden and then at him. "Do you want to learn? I still have a few months, I can teach you everything I know before I leave. It can be nice to have a place like this. When things get overwhelming. It's very calm here."

Cullen remained silent. Laica decided to not look up at him and concentrated on her labors. "Could at least make yourself useful while you're here, you know," she muttered. "Unless standing there staring at me like an inactive golem is somehow taking up all of your mental capacities." She yanked with too much force on a particularly offensive weed, and was sent tumbling.

"Maker," Cullen muttered and went to her. "You should be more careful," he said, slipping his hands under her elbows and gently lifting her to her feet.

She grumbled and dusted the back of her skirt. "Well _you_ should be more helpful," she said sullenly, gathering an armload of dry weeds and seed pods.

Wordlessly, he went to the pile and gathered up an armload himself. "Where is this going?" he asked.

Laica fumbled a bit in her surprise at his unceremonious assistance. "Um, right this way," she said, leading him to the fire pit just outside the wall. She piled up the weeds safely within the pit and watched as he did the same. "Um, stand back a bit," she advised, placing her hand on his chest and pushing him back a few paces. "Sometimes it can flare." She kept pushing him back until she was satisfied they were a safe distance away, then turned and flicked a small fireball at the pit, which immediately burst into flame.

"Maker's breath," he cursed quietly, shielding his face. "That's enormous!"

"No it isn't," she said, laughing a bit. "That's actually quite a bit smaller than normal."

He simply stared at her a moment before sighing and shaking his head, and trudging over to lean against the wall. "They want me to deliver you to Val Royeaux," he informed her quietly, staring at the fire.

"What?" she asked, turning to look at him, insides turning to ice. "Is that why… are you… now?"

He looked at her, stricken. "Laica, no. I'm not going to do it. I can't. It's not _right_."

She clasped her hands in front of her, a mixture of relief and dread swirling in her heart. "But what will become of you? You can't just ignore orders."

He folded his arms and stared at the ground. "Let me worry about that," he said in a steely tone. "You have enough to deal with."

There was a moment, when she was standing in front of him, dread giving way to gratitude and even affection, when she wanted to hug him, to thank him. To let him know how she appreciated how many, many times he had caught her when she was standing on the brink of oblivion and dragged her back.

But she didn't. She remembered his visions of the dark haired woman, the feelings of longing and regret surrounding her. And she was going to leave him, too. She couldn't add to his regrets. "Thank you," was all she allowed herself to say. "I… um…"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I should be going. I shall see you on the morrow." And he went on his way back into the city, leaving her alone.


	12. Cloudreach

Cloudreach

Sebastian

There was never a more appropriately named month, in Sebastian's mind, than Cloudreach. He liked to stand on the ramparts on the south wall of the city, where the cloud-stuffed sky stretched endlessly into the horizon, bisected by the glittering ribbon of the Minanter. He smiled to himself as he spied a cloud that looked like a bunny.

He turned his attention to the river, and followed it with his eyes, going eastward. In just two months, Laica would be arriving by barge. He sighted along his thumb, as if he could stretch his sight a few leagues more, and see her coming, even though he knew she hadn't actually left Kirkwall yet. He dropped his hand with a sigh. Two more months would pass quickly, he reassured himself.

Turning with a sigh, he began making his way back inside when he was stopped by Varric. "Hey! Hey!" the dwarf jogged up to meet him before doubling over, wheezing. "So many… sodding… stairs," he panted. "How do you live like this?"

"Is there any other way to live, my friend?" Sebastian said, clapping him on the shoulder heartily. "Without all those stairs, could you ever have gotten a view like this?" He waved his arm grandly at the expanse of sky and river and rolling hills.

Varric peeped over the wall, and then pushed himself away, shaking his head. "All this height makes me dizzy, your worshipfulness."

Sebastian smiled happily as he lifted his face to feel the wind, and then returned his focus to his friend. "Was there something you needed, Varric? You don't often come up here."

"Well, your princeliness," he said, turning away from the wall completely. "Got a letter from Aveline. She's planning on coming with Laica, Carver, and Charade. She wants to stick around for the wedding to see to security detail before heading back."

Sebastian nodded. "Excellent. I will rest easier knowing that she is well looked after. And none are more trustworthy than Aveline."

Varric nodded with a bit of a smile. "Nope."

Sebastian gestured for Varric to follow him as he continued his tour of the wall. "Will Knight-Commander Cullen be attending as well?" he asked. "I know Laica has long considered him a particular friend."

"No," Varric shook his head, falling into step. "But Aveline said it was some sort of Templar business and that Carver would explain. Maybe. You know how he is."

Sebastian nodded. "He is certainly willful. Though that's hardly a surprise, considering how Laica is." He couldn't help himself from smiling fondly. "My bride."

Varric released a long-suffering sigh. "Yep. She is. Somehow I've managed to not forget that. Must be the fact that you feel the need to inform me every at least once every half-hour. For the past year or so."

Sebastian knew he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn't bring himself to care. "We're to be married in Justinian."

Varric nodded. "Yes. You are," he agreed with some measure of resignation. "Good thing you reminded me. Might have forgotten. Anyway," he sighed, "Aveline also said that she and Laica decided it would be best for her to remain at her post in Kirkwall."

Sebastian nodded. "Good. We will need somebody there we can trust. And, as much as I respect the knight-commander, his loyalties aren't as clear-cut."

Varric shrugged. "He hasn't dragged her off to the Spire yet. I think he's made his position clear."

Sebastian frowned. "I'm afraid I have quite lost my faith in the hierarchy, my friend."

"Fair enough," Varric conceded.

"And what about you?" Sebastian asked him. "Will you remain here? Or do you feel the call of Kirkwall as well?"

Varric wrinkled his nose, overlooking the city. "I'm going to head back, too. Everything is too sodding clean and perfect. Everybody is too sodding rich! There's no place for somebody like me. So when Aveline goes back to Kirkwall, I'm going with her."

Sebastian turned and leaned against the wall, staring at the expanse of sky and earth. "That makes sense," he said, feeling a pang. "You've been a good friend to me this past year. I will miss your company."

"I know. I'm pretty much impossible to replace," Varric grinned. "But I'm sure you'll find enough to distract you from your grief with your new bride."

"That's right," Sebastian grinned. "I'm going to marry Laica."

"Yep," Varric cracked a smile back. "In Justinian." He looked out over the rolling hills. "Sebastian. I'm only going to ask you this once, because I'm her friend. Do you actually want to get married?"

Sebastian's smile faded as he considered this question. "It's not a question of what I want, Varric. The Maker has made it quite clear to me that it is His will that I rule the city. And part of that is that I should marry."

"No," Varric shook his head. "Don't do that. If you want a political match, there are plenty of eligble noblewomen. This is _Laica_."

"I know," Sebastian crossed his arms and looked down, trying to reconcile his conflicting feelings. "She is my best friend. And I love her. And I don't want to marry anybody else..."

"But if you had your way, you'd still be in the Chantry," Varric finished for him.

Sebastian grimaced and smoothed his hair back. "That's not the sort of thing a bridegroom is supposed to say."

"No. Which is why I'm the one asking, and not Laica. It's alright, Choir Boy, you don't have to be perfect all the time." Varric said.

"She is the best woman I have ever known," Sebastian said with deep conviction. "I will be the kind of husband she deserves."

* * *

><p>.<p>

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A/N: This is just a head's up: The next chapter will be rated M, so this will not show up on the front page unless you change your settings, or put this on alerts. Thanks for reading so far!


	13. Bloomingtide

Bloomingtide

_Cullen_

He found her in the watch tower, overlooking the city from high above, gazing down with an expression of thoughtfulness he could not hope to understand. He stood for a moment in the doorway, simply watching her.

The setting sun illuminated her, her skin glowed and her hair shone like liquid gold. Again she was wearing silk, as the season had turned from spring to summer with its expected swiftness. The sapphire gown skimmed her form before falling into a pool of skirts at her feet. He swallowed and made a mental note to include in his reports that she seemed to have completely recovered from the demon attack.

She looked up, eyes guarded. "Knight-Commander," she said softly, straightening from where she had been leaning against the window frame. "I was not expecting company."

"Do you, ah, mind… company?" he asked, just barely controlling his stutter, closing the door behind him and entering the room.

Shrugging, she turned back to the window and he pulled his gaze up so as not to watch the way her skirts shifted to hug her. "I've been thinking about what you said," she sighed, resting her chin on her hand.

"What I…" he searched his memory, trying to determine what she meant. "Do you mean about the messenger pigeons?" It seemed odd to him that this solution to their correspondence issue would cause such a melancholy pensiveness in her.

"No," she said with a hint of irritation. "About the garden. And how I wouldn't see it bloom." She sighed. "It's the same with Kirkwall. I just don't know… I suppose I couldn't have made it _worse_."

He slowly closed the distance between them and stood next to her, looking down over the city. A few people strolled through the Hightown market in the pleasant dusk. And beyond that he could see the smoke of cook fires in Lowtown, and just over that haze he make out the tops of the masts of the ships in the harbor. "No," he said gently, trying to reassure her. "Quite the opposite."

She looked up at him with a small smile, and he felt a warm rush of happiness that his words had the desired effect. "Well, you helped."

He felt himself blushing and looked away, suddenly sheepish. "Well. It's good to know I didn't make it worse," he said with a bit of a laugh.

She lay her hand on his and he felt his knees go weak. "Cullen," she said softly, and the sound of his name on her lips sent blood rushing through his veins. "Are you sure you won't come to Starkhaven? The knight-commander there is… ready to retire."

There was nothing he wanted more than to go with her. The thought of continuing on in Kirkwall without her filled him with hollow dread. It had been seven years since he met her on the Wounded Coast, and in that time she had slowly stolen her way into his heart.

But she was to marry another, a man he liked and respected. She would be loved and protected as she should be. He closed his eyes, memorizing the feel of her fingers on his, the warmth of her palm. "I cannot do that, my lady," he said thickly. "Kirkwall needs me."

She tightened her fingers on his hand, and he knew he should pull away but he somehow could not find the strength. "I need you," she said, barely a whisper.

He opened his eyes to look at her, and was met with deep blue eyes wide in longing. The depth of her need stole his breath away. "But how…" he whispered, at a loss.

She took a deep breath and continued speaking low. "You have been there at my worst moments. You have saved me… more times than I like to think about. I am grateful for you. And I am loathe to part from you, for whatever reason."

His heart thundered in his chest, every instinct screaming to pull away but he did not. "Why are you telling me this?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Because… I don't know if I will ever see you again. And," she swallowed and spoke slowly, choosing her words deliberately, "you've risked a great deal for my sake. And I couldn't bear the thought of you not knowing how grateful I was. And how much I appreciate what you've done for me." Her hand began to tremble. "And…"

"Don't," he begged her, "don't, please."

"How much I love you."

He shook his head, trying to shake her words out of his ears. But it was too late, her voice shivered down his spine and clung to his bones.

"That's all I wanted to say," she said finally, looking at her hands. "I should… leave, shouldn't I?"

He sat in stunned silence as she stood, her skirts rustling softly, and went to the stairs. "No," he said, surprising even himself. She couldn't simply leave after that. Walk away after shattering him with just a few words. He reached out and grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him.

"No?" she echoed, confused.

"Don't… leave," he swallowed, struggling for words. "Not yet. I want to…" He closed his eyes and kissed her.

He knew it was wrong, desperate and crazy but she melted against him, her lips soft and yielding and he soon was far past the point of caring about the difference between what he was _supposed_ to do and what he _wanted_ to do and pulled her into his lap.

She made soft little sounds in the back of her throat and curled against him, fitting so neatly in his arms it was if she were designed by the Maker Himself to be there. She threaded her fingers into his hair, her nails dragging lightly against his scalp and he wrapped his hands around her ribs, feeling her chest heave as she deepened the kiss, brushing her tongue against his lips.

He broke away with a small gasp. "Laica…"

"I want you," she interrupted, "I need you, Cullen, just once."

He was silent a time, his pulse thundering in his ears as he stroked his fingers through her hair. "I… " he struggled to finish the sentence.

He knew he was honor bound to refuse her. To pull away from her and walk away, to refuse to acknowledge the ache in his heart as she left the city, never to return. He had done it before, after all.

But something new, rebellious, welled up inside of him. Not this time. This time, he would not let her leave without expressing to her how he felt. "I want that, too," he said finally.

She rested her forehead against his and lightly stroked his whiskers with the tips of her fingers. "Come to my chambers tonight, stay with me," she said, a hint of pleading in her voice. "Just the once."

He nodded quickly and kissed her once more before she slipped from his arms and stole back down the stairs.

* * *

><p><em>Laica<em>

She didn't actually think he would come. She stood in front of her fire, staring into it, watching the flames flicker and dance, an aching sort of sadness settling in her heart, along with a touch of embarrassment at being rejected. "Stupid," she muttered to herself. "Getting married in a month, stop thinking about him."

She heard a soft tap on the door and she jumped, startled. There was a moment where she thought she would not answer. Pretend to be asleep, forget the idiotic, impulsive, reckless things she had said to the knight-commander.

There was another soft tap, more hesitant, and she bit her lip, staring at the door. "Just the once," she murmured to herself. Taking a deep breath, she padded quickly to the door and opened it.

Cullen stood in the hallway, dressed in a simple shirt and trousers. He looked so strange out of armor and robes. Just as tall as in uniform, his shoulders strained against the seams of his shirt, his considerable strength still evident.

But more vulnerable. More human.

She took him by the hand and led him into her chambers, unable to stop the slight tremble of anticipation, and fighting back the guilt that started to creep into her gut. He looked at her, anxious. "I don't know what…" he stopped and swallowed, a blush creeping up his neck.

"It's alright," she said gently, reaching to lightly trail her fingers along his shoulders and down his arm, tracing the feeling of his muscles under the fabric. He shivered and tensed under her touch. "I know." He relaxed slightly and she stepped closer to him and looked up through her lashes. She had to tilt her head back further to look at him, he was so much taller than Sebastian. "Would you like to undress me?"

He nodded quickly and she took his hands and led them to the laces of her gown. Blushing and avoiding her eye, he fumbled with them a moment before untying them. She slipped out of her gown and stood before him, bare in the firelight. His eyes traveled along the curves of her body. She took his hands again and led them to skim along where his gaze landed. "Will you undress as well?" she asked gently as he cupped her breasts with calloused hands. "I want to touch you."

His eyes widened briefly in surprise. "I… ah, suppose that would…" he coughed and looked down. She stroked his face gently with one hand and slowly untied the laces of his trousers with the other. He lifted his shirt over his head and she stepped forward to kiss him gently as she slid his trousers over his hips, dropping them to the floor.

Once again she took his hand in hers and led him to the bed. "Laica, I…" He said, finally looking up to meet her eye. "I want to do this… right."

She climbed onto the bed and pulled him gently to her. "It will be right," she breathed, dipping her head to trail her lips along his collar bone and slipping a hand between her legs.

His eyes locked on her hand moving, blushing brightly all the way to his chest but he did not look away as she trembled and moaned. She touched her breast with her other hand, fingertips teasing over the nipple, bringing another soft gasp to her lips.

And then his hands were on her, sliding along her sides, her breasts, her center. Rough fingers next to her soft ones, gently urging them aside as he began to tentatively touch her. She looked up to meet his eye as he stroked her gently, his expression a mixture of apprehension and awe. But something else lurked behind his eyes. Guilt. She pulled him down for slow, lingering kiss.

Breaking away, she trailed soft kisses along his jaw, trying not to note how his whiskers felt different against her lips. How she had grown accustomed to a more clean-shaven face. "Don't think about anything," she whispered. "Please."

He paused in his caresses. "I'm being selfish."

"What?" She reached to stroke his face lightly. "How are you being the selfish one?"

"Because," he swallowed, brow furrowed, hands still touching her as if he were unable to stop. "You're leaving tomorrow. And I don't want to let you go without having this. But, you're to be married, and—"

She pulled him close to her again, interrupting him with an urgent kiss. "Let me worry about my sins," she murmured against his lips.

He began to stroke her with more confidence and her arousal was too much to bear. A wave of remorse threatened, and she forced it back down. She reached to stroke him with slick fingers and felt him strain into her touch, shuddering. She trailed small soft kisses to his ear. "I'm ready," she said with a gasping moan.

He needed no more encouragement, and guided himself into her. She groaned and arched her back, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him, to fill her completely. He grabbed her hips and thrust deeply, laying his head against her shoulder and gasping for breath.

They remained as such for a moment, as if they just stayed, without moving, without breathing, then time would stop and they could stay. But the thundering in their veins soon became too much to deny and he moved within her with surety born of instinct. She dug her nails into his back, inhaling sharply as he sank his teeth into her shoulder and pinned her to the bed with his bulk. She cried out as the sharp pain clashed with her peaking arousal, shuddering violently.

She raked her nails down his back, catching on on scars and gliding over rolling muscle. He faltered in his rhythm and released the bite. "Is… that good?" He asked, voice hushed.

"Yes!" she shrieked, tightening her legs around his waist, "Maker, Cullen, yes that's good."

He nodded, eyes rolling back as he redoubled his efforts. She shrieked as he surged into her with a relentless pace. Finally her pleasure broke over her, and she clawed his shoulders down to his arms as she went rigid, screaming and shaking uncontrollably. He groaned roughly, pounding even harder, yanking her hips up to meet him. She was long past spent, and clung to him as he moved wildly, trying to memorized the feel of his body, his weight bearing down on her, his hips between her thighs, his movement inside of her, his breath, hot on her neck.

And then he tensed and roared, and she thrilled as she felt him spill into her before going slack and sliding his hands up to wrap his arms around her, holding her to his heart.

She held him within her, stroking her fingers through his hair, feeling his heartbeat against her skin. "Will you stay with me? Just for tonight?"

He was quiet a long time, slowly stroking her skin, and she knew he was trying to memorize her the way she tried to memorize him. "Yes," he said softly, lips brushing her skin. "Just for tonight. My love."


	14. Epilogue

Epilogue

For You are the fire at the heart of the world

And comfort is only Yours to give.

_-Transfigurations 12:6_

There was one thing she never told anybody. Not her confessor, not her friends, not even Sebastian.

As she was drifting off to sleep in Cullen's arms, she made a promise to herself. One she never voiced aloud. And that promise was: if he was still there when she awoke, she would not go to Starkhaven.

But he left while she still slept. And so she left the city without saying goodbye.

As her entourage filed out the city gates, headed for Vimmarks Pass, she allowed herself to look back, just once. A solitary figure stood on the wall, with broad shoulders and close-cut hair. She looked at him for one long moment, before turning to face the road ahead.

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><p>AN: Ok. Before you get really really mad at me: Laica's story is not over. Just this part of it. I have the next section plotted out, but I don't want to get to working on it until I finish "Restoration". As a consolation: check out my profile for a link to a fic mix I made for it. Because hey, free music! That's good, right?

(Please don't hurt me)


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